


The Bane of Tullius

by RedheadedDragon



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Love Triangles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Teenage Rebellion, Unrequited Love, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedheadedDragon/pseuds/RedheadedDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tullius and Ulfric have never gotten along, not even when they were both soldiers in the Legion.  Tullius is relieved to be finally calling an end to the Civil War with the Stormcloaks only to lose Ulfric to an escape during a dragon attack.  And that's when Tullius's world turns upside down.  An alternate beginning story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Escape

“Why did you bring me to an execution?” came the horrified cry from the young blonde woman to her father. She looked in fright at the executioner that stood just beyond them, his axe blade gleaming in the sun; her mind brought up images of dislodged heads rolling down the stone roads of this little town in the far reaches of Skyrim, blood spraying everything in their path. 

“Because, Freya,” General Tullius stated in a flat, clipped tone, “it’s time for you to see the world for how it really is and stop romanticizing this insurrection. These rebels are disillusioned by the rantings of an angry megalomaniac. They have caused the deaths of many and today, today we bring it to an end.” 

Freya looked at the man she called father. “You know as well as I do that this will not end until Ulfric Stormcloak is dead and his followers abandon his cause.” 

“And that, my dear daughter, is what we are doing today.” He motioned toward the wagons clanking into the small town of Helgen. She looked over and suddenly felt as if someone had punched her in her stomach. There in the last wagon she saw the bound and gagged figure of the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak with two men she did not recognize but the fourth man, she knew him and she knew him very well, better than her father would have ever approved. There at the front of the wagon behind the driver sat a blond haired blue eyed Nord, seemingly in conversation with one of the other captives; it was Ralof, the man whom she had been carrying on a relationship with for the past six months behind her father’s back. Her heart raced; did she risk her father’s wrath by pleading for the life of the man she adored or did she watch in horrified silence as the executioner took his head? Then to her horror Ralof turned his head and saw her standing under the Imperial banner, his eyes showing first surprise then confusion; she turned away in shame to avoid his eyes. She looked at her father, a smirk on his face and she realized he knew. She went to run off when he grabbed her arm. 

“It’s time to face reality, Freya. There is nothing but death that awaits those who rebel against the Empire.” 

# 

Ralof stared at Freya from where he stood with the rest of the prisoners. He was trying to think of every reason she would be here standing amongst Tullius and Elenwen under the banner of the Empire but the only thing that kept going through his head was that he had fallen victim to the feminine wiles of an Imperial loving Nord. He saw how she kept avoiding his gaze and it angered him. ‘And to think,’ he thought bitterly as he listened to Tullius rant against Ulfric, ‘I thought I could love her.’ He thought of the last time he had seen her, just a week previous when she told him she had snuck away from her overbearing father and saw him at his last post in Folkwreath. He remembered how he felt in his arms as they sat in front of the fire at the inn and how he began to wish he could come home to her every day. He had found himself wondering if this beautiful young woman could possibly want to spend the rest of her life with him. He was angry; angry that he had let his heart get so attached and angry that the woman he had started falling in love with seemingly had betrayed his heart. 

Suddenly there was a loud commotion and he blinked his eyes in disbelief as he stared at the gigantic form of a black winged creature landing upon the tower behind the executioner. Suddenly fire erupted from its jaws; he leaped up, saw a guard lying dead just beyond him, the blade of his sword unsheathed, and ran to him. He quickly cut his binds off of his hands by carefully running them alongside the sharpened edge. He found a small dagger on the ground and grabbed it; Ulfric, his gag having been loosened from his mouth, called over to him and after cutting off his binds, they ran off. For a moment he thought he heard above the roar of the dragon’s fire breath and the terrified screams of the towns people Freya screaming his name, but his thoughts were now on the life and survival of his jarl and ran for cover, guarding Ulfric all the while. 

#

Freya screamed after Ralof until she could see him no more. ‘Divines protect him!’ she silently pleaded as she ran through the flames of the small town, looking for an escape. She heard her father yell over the chaos, “Hadvar! Get my daughter out of here and to safety!” She spun to see Hadvar just feet from her; just as he saw her she bolted in the opposite direction, making her way past the collapsing walls and fiery explosions that erupted from the maw of this voracious monster until she found her way outside the walls of the city. 

She ran. She ran until her legs hurt and her feet felt like they were going to explode and still she ran, finally collapsing in a clearing. She turned and looked back to see pillars of smoke rising in the air and started to shake. Suddenly the sobbing ripped through her chest as the full impact of what just happened sank in. Her Nord mother had spoken of the old tales of dragons but her father, an Imperial, dismissed the old tales of her mother’s people as myth and make believe. What she had just seen though was far from make believe as was evidenced by the scorch marks on her dress. She furiously wiped the tears from her face and started to pull herself together. She felt her pocket and found that she still had some coins in there; knowing that she was going to need shelter here and soon, she started walking, not quite sure which direction to turn. Should she head back to Solitude and await her father’s punishment for her relationship with Ralof or should she try to find out if Ralof survived and explain to him why she couldn’t tell him who she was? Would he even believe her she wondered? After she had seen the anger in his eyes she didn’t think he would. Slowly but with determination she headed to Riverwood, she’d make up her mind what to do after she got there. 

# 

Ralof sat at the table in his sister’s house in Riverwood, his mind torturing him with the images of everything he had just seen and been through. He was surprised he had made it out alive; the stench of death by fire had permeated the skies around Helgen. Gerdur had seen how shook up he was and had rushed him into her home. He knew that she wanted to know more of what happened but he was sure that she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t ready. He hadn’t noticed when Gerdur had left but he took full notice when she hurried back into the house and shut the door, her eyes full of concern. “What is it, Gerdur?” he asked, the soldier in him waking up, alert and prepared to run. 

“A young woman, I just passed her on her way to the inn; she smelled of smoke and fire. It looked like there were burn marks on her dress.” 

“A survivor? One of the town’s people probably.” His heart skipped a beat despite himself. He remembered that when he saw Freya she was wearing a dress. “What did this woman look like?” 

Puzzled, Gerdur answered, “She was blonde, wearing a blue dress and she looked scared. Why, brother?” 

He got up suddenly, looked at his clothes and threw open the wardrobe where some of his brother-in-law’s clothes were. He pulled out a pair of work pants and an old tunic of his and put them on followed by swapping out his fur boots worn by all Stormcloaks in exchange for a pair of Hod’s work boots. “Could it be?” he mumbled to himself. “Did she make it out alive?” 

“Who, brother? What are you talking about?” 

“I have to see; I need to know. I have to go to the inn.” 

“Ralof! Are you crazy?” she cried out. “If an Imperial sees you they’ll take you away!” 

He looked at his older sister, the worry and concern in her eyes evident and he smiled. “I’ll be careful, Gerdur; I promise you I will. I’ll be back, I just have to know something.” He planted a kiss on his sister’s cheek and slowly opened the door. He slipped out of the house and carefully made his way to the inn. He scanned the room and saw a flash of blue go into one of the rooms on the left and headed over to the closed door. He closed his eyes for a moment, not sure if he wanted it to be Freya or not. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and rapped on the door. A moment later the door opened and he found himself staring into the emerald green eyes of his blonde haired beauty. 

“Ralof!” she breathed excitedly as she pulled him into the room and shut the door behind him. “You made it out!” 

He looked at her, their eyes meeting. The hardness in his eyes making her stop short of throwing her arms around his neck. “What were you doing in Helgen? And why were you standing with Tullius?” 

Her face fell; her eyes downcast as she sat on the bed, dejected. She looked up at him, her voice soft as she said, “I’m sorry, Ralof. I should have been honest with you a long time ago. I just didn’t want to lose you.” 

He felt his heart drop at her admission to not telling him the truth. “What did you lie to me about? And why?” 

She sighed and fiddled with her hands as she said, “I didn’t really lie. I just didn’t tell you that my father is General Tullius.” 

Ralof’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open. “Your father?” She nodded hesitantly. “So, what? This whole thing, you and me, that was nothing but a set up by Tullius then to capture Ulfric?” His mind raced with the first thought that came to his head as it was well known that Tullius had sworn to capture the rebel jarl. 

“No!” she shook her head vehemently. “Not at all! I wasn’t lying when I told you that I was skipping out to avoid being around my father. He’s always been overbearing with me, nothing I do is ever right by him. Ralof, when I met you, I really as just running off to get away for a bit. I’ve done it thousands of times before. Whenever he goes on a campaign that takes him away from Solitude he leaves me there and I usually run off for a couple of days.” 

“If so, why were you in Helgen?”  
She shrugged and tossed her hands up. “He didn’t give me a choice this time; he said it was time for me–.“ She stopped as she recalled his words to her. “He knew that he was going to capture Ulfric; he was so confident as he headed out, having Hadvar escort me from Solitude to Helgen; he wanted to prove his point to me.” 

“And what point was that?” 

“Some time ago we were discussing current events as he is determined to have me follow in his footsteps by joining the Legion and working my way up the ranks like he did. He just insists that Ulfric would surrender to him but I insist that the only way he’d be able to capture Ulfric was if his men didn’t fight till their deaths to protect him and that the Stormcloaks loyalty to him was so strong that that would never happen.” 

Ralof could not help but smile at the support she gave to the Stormcloaks to her Imperial father. “What did he say to that?” 

“He said he would be able to get Ulfric to surrender without his men dying. I told him that that would never happen and he said he’d prove it.” 

Ralof sat at the table by the bed and sighed. “Well, you both were right about it.” At her confused look he continued. “We were not about to surrender whatsoever, that’s not the Nord way. But a messenger came across from Tullius side with a message to Ulfric. I have no idea what it said but whatever it did say it was enough to make Ulfric give the stand down order and allow himself to be bound and gagged. I have served with Jarl Ulfric for many years now and I have never seen him back down from anything.” 

“Did Ulfric make it out?” 

Ralof shrugged, unsure. “We were separated. I got out and came right here to my sister’s house. I’m waiting till it’s safe for me to get back to Windhelm.” He looked at her again, his eyes soft. “Why are you here in Riverwood, Freya?” 

“I couldn’t go to Solitude. My father knows about us, I realized that when the wagons came into Helgen. The execution, that was supposed to be only the first part of my punishment. My father is a sadist when it comes to punishments. He was going to force me to watch you be killed and then the real punishment would begin. He doesn’t teach by love; he doesn’t teach by example. He teaches by fear and what happens when you don’t obey the rules. He will not let me get away with having a relationship with a Stormcloak.” 

Slowly Ralof nodded in understanding. “Then come with me to Windhelm.” 

“Oh yeah, go to Windhelm, right in the middle of what he calls an insurrection. Just give him more reason to storm the city under the guise of taking his daughter back. I need to go where he won’t know where I am.” 

He reached over and stroked her cheek. “Freya, my love, you’ll be safe in Windhelm. I promise you. We’ll keep you being there a secret. We can get a room at Candlehearth and you can stay there, with me.” He looked her deep in the eyes. “Please.” 

Freya looked at the pleading in his eyes and quickly changed her mind. She nodded and said, “Okay. I know you’re right. Father isn’t going to attempt any move on Windhelm right now, not when he just had Ulfric slip through his fingers. I’ll go. I’ll go to Windhelm with you.” Ralof smiled at her, nice and large and she asked, “When do we leave?” 

“After dusk. I need to tell my sister that I’m leaving or she’ll worry. I’ll be right back,” he leaned toward her and gently kissed her lips. “We have a lot to talk about.” He smiled at her and slipped out of the room. 

# 

Ralof and Freya headed out of Riverwood that night, hoping to avoid any Imperial eyes that might be on the road. They slipped out of town believing that no one saw them but they did not see Hadvar sitting on the banks of the river watching them.


	2. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof brings Freya to Windhelm; Galmar questions Ulfric's decision to allow Tullius's daughter to stay within the palace.

Ulfric sat at the table in his war room reading through reports from his men in the field. He had made it back from Helgen the day before, only a couple others making it out of Helgen with him; if he had ignored the message from Tullius those soldiers would still be alive. He put the report he had been reading down and rubbed his chin, feeling the coarse whiskers in his beard and his thoughts drifted for a moment as they had many times since Helgen. The appearance of a dragon completely changed the playing field and a part of him wondered if there would be a Skyrim to fight for if dragons were returning as foretold in many of the stories of old. Was his battle against the Empire even going to amount to anything? 

He heard footsteps and looked up to see his steward Jorleif walking in. “Yes, Jorleif? What is it?” 

“Ralof has returned from Helgen, sir.” 

He nodded. “Good, I was worried we had lost a good man with him.” 

Jorleif continued, “He wishes to speak to you, sir.” 

“Send him in, I’ll speak with him here.” 

“Yes, my Liege.” He walked out and a moment later the younger Nord man entered the room. 

“Glad to see you made it out alive, Ralof. I trust there is a good reason why the delay in your return?” 

“Aye, sir. When I got out of Helgen I made my way to my sister’s in Riverwood to lay low for a bit before returning to Windhelm.” 

Ulfric nodded in understanding. “Ah, yes, Gerdur, is it not?” At Ralof’s nod he continued, “We appreciate her unofficial donation of lumber to the cause. I trust she was pleased with her compensation?” He stood up and walked to the table in the middle of the room. 

 

Ralof smiled as he answered, “Oh yes, Jarl Ulfric, she is quite happy with the arrangement.” He cleared his throat then continued on, “There was something else…” 

Ulfric noticed a figure in the passageway between the throne room and war room and spoke up, his voice harsh. “You stand amongst the shadows now when just days ago you stood openly with Tullius and the Thalmor; who are you and why are you in my palace?” 

“Jarl Ulfric, she’s with me. She’s the reason I needed to speak with you.” 

Ulfric watched as the young woman entered the room, he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, uncertainty that must have been reflected in his own. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her as he asked again. “Who are you?” Ralof started to answer but a stern glance from Ulfric silenced him quickly. 

The young woman shifted her weight from one foot to the next then took a deep breath before answering, “My name is Freya and I’m here because Ralof said I’d be safer here than anywhere else.” 

“Safe? Safe from what?” 

“Safe from my father.” 

Ulfric raised his eyebrow and responded, “So you are running away from home then? And who, pray tell, is your father that you feel you must be kept safe from?” He crossed his arms in front of him. 

She tilted her head slightly and flatly replied, “General Tullius, sir.” 

Ulfric suddenly stopped short, his face set into a grim look, stared at her, and then he looked at Ralof. “You bring Tullius’s own daughter into my palace?! Are you asking for more reason for Tullius to make an attempt on Windhelm?” He shook his head, disappointed in one of his best men. “No, Tullius’s runaway child will need to find someone else to protect her.” He started to walk away. 

“But Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof stated firmly, “she’s the Dragonborn.” 

Ulfric stopped in midstep, turned to look at the girl and said, “The Dragonborn? And how do you know this?” 

“I saw her take the beasts soul.” 

Ulfric approached Freya, his narrowed and untrusting eyes looking her up and down. “Can you Shout?” he demanded. She nodded. “Then Shout.” Freya’s green eyes grew wide as she looked around the room. 

“Jarl Ul-“

Ulfric silenced Ralof with a look then looked back at the young woman. His voice was gruff and demanding as he said again in a commanding tone, “Shout now or I will have you jailed until daddy can arrange your freedom.” 

At this her eyes blazed; she drew a deep breath and threw her voice toward the table in the middle of the room Shouting “Fus!” The markers that had been sitting upon the top of the map marking Imperial movements and who held what flew across the room, the map itself shot up in midair then fluttered to the floor while a group of tankards were slammed against the opposite wall. Freya looked back at a seemingly impressed Ulfric, meeting his raised eyebrow with one of her own, agitation written all across her porcelain face. “Will that suffice for my jarl?” she asked. 

Ulfric heard the rushing footfalls of his guards and waved them off as they rushed into the room, his gaze never once leaving the face of this young woman, a smile playing upon his lips. “For now, Dragonborn, yes. I’ll have Jorleif ready a room for you.” 

Ralof cleared his throat and hesitantly said, “I was going to rent a room at the inn for the two of us, sir….” 

Ulfric glanced at the blond man, a sudden look of male understanding appearing on his face and nodded. “Then you can serve as a guard for her room here in the palace.” 

Ralof smiled as he replied, “Aye, sir.” 

Galmar rushed into the room, his battle-axe drawn. Ulfric motioned for his housecarl to stand down but addressed Ralof. “Go down to the kitchens and eat; I want Galmar to debrief you afterwards. I’ll have Jorleif tell you when the room is ready. You are dismissed.” He started to turn away and then stopped and looked back at the young man. “Make sure you attend to your duties properly.” Then he went about picking up the map and markers from the floor and putting them back onto the table. 

“Is it me or does that girl look like –“ Galmar started only to have Ulfric stop him with a glance. “Okay, so it’s not just me.” 

Ulfric’s eyes narrowed again as he said, “That is Tullius’s daughter, Freya.” 

“Tullius’s?” he repeated incredulously. “Have you gone mad, Ulfric? That Imperial bastard just nearly took your head to put on display in the Imperial City and now you have his daughter running loose in your palace? Are you sure you did not hit your head when that dragon attacked Helgen?” 

“It would appear that the girl is a runaway; a runaway who just happens to also be the Dragonborn.” 

“The Dragonborn? You don’t say?” At Ulfric’s nod he said as he looked toward the door. “And she sides with you?” 

Ulfric sat down and folded his hands in front of him. “I can only assume so. I have a feeling that her and Ralof have known each other for some time.” 

“And you’re just letting her stay in the palace? Just because she’s the Dragonborn?” At Ulfric’s nod Galmar snapped, “By the Nine, Ulfric, she’s Tullius’s daughter! And by the looks of her –“ 

“I am well aware of the implications!” Ulfric suddenly roared in response to his longtime friend. 

“Do you really want to open old wounds?” 

“That is enough, Galmar!” Ulfric’s eyes were hot. “Debrief Ralof but be aware he is assigned to guard the Dragonborn. Add a few extra men to both the detail for the living quarters and station an extra guard outside the room down from mine; I am going to have Jorleif put her there. That way I can keep an eye on our honored guest and you will treat her as such, Galmar, regardless of anything. I fully intend to make use of having the Dragonborn in my city. If I can get her to join our cause, victory will be ours.” 

“You might just be signing your own death certificate with this one, Ulfric.” 

“That will be all, Galmar,” Ulfric snapped as he stood up and walked out to locate Jorleif to have him ready the room that the Dragonborn would be staying in. 

# 

That night Ulfric laid in his bed, his mind a million miles in the past as he remembered the young man he had been when he had come down off the mountain from his time with the Greybeards at High Hrothgar to join the war against the Dominion. He thought of all the hopes, all the dreams, all the things that he had wanted to do and then he thought about how all of those hopes and dreams and desires were shattered in one fell swoop and he had turned into this hard and cold man he was today. He found himself wondering what the outcome would have been if he had only done things differently. Would he have lost as much as he did if he had never been captured by the Thalmor? Would he be filled with as much regret today if he had only controlled his anger instead of acting out on it? 

He sighed as he started thinking of current events; the dragon that appeared at what was supposed to be his execution, the appearance of the Dragonborn and the fact that the Dragonborn was the daughter of his enemy but slept just down the hall from him. All of these thoughts haunted him as he laid in bed, tossing and turning waiting for that elusive sleep to come and visit him but it never came. 

#

Hadvar hesitated before going into the room with Tullius and Rikke; he knew Tullius was going to be angry, there were very few people the general trusted with his daughter and Hadvar was the one he had trusted the most. He ran his large calloused hand through his dust and dirt filled hair as he thought of how he was going to tell Tullius his daughter had fled with one of the rebels. He took a deep breath as eh mentally prepared himself for the confrontation. He already had beat himself up enough over not only his failure to protect Freya but also for failing to stop her from leaving Riverwood with Ralof. He thought back to Helgen when she ran off after meeting his eyes and how he had felt his heart drop when she did so. He thought to that night in Riverwood when he was sitting by the river and he had realized that it was Freya sneaking out by the light of the moon alongside his childhood friend. Once again he felt his heart drop as he watched her take a hold of Ralof’s hand and kiss him. 

“Hadvar!” Tullius’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Good to see you made it back. I trust Freya is in her room?” 

Hadvar cleared his throat and walked in. He chose his words carefully, watching the general’s reactions. “No, sir. I saw Freya escape Helgen before I got out myself.” 

“Are you telling me you don’t know where my daughter is, Hadvar?” 

“No, sir, I’m not. I can’t be sure sir, but the last I had seen her she was in the company of a known rebel.” 

“That Ralof guy?” he asked, his teeth clenched. Hadvar nodded. “Then she’s most likely in Windhelm. Send someone into the city, just to see if she is there or not.” He started to pace the floor. “Dammit! I had him right in my grasp and that bastard still got away! And now Freya might be there? Right in the heart of it? Dammit if she’s not like her mother! At least Siobhan realized how dangerous Ulfric really was and got out of that damn city when she did.” He looked at Hadvar and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sure you want to be the one to go into Windhelm and see if that’s Freya or not but you’d be recognized.” 

“No, sir,” he said as he shook his head, “you’re right. If she is there and were to see me she might possibly run. And seeing how Ralof and I have a history that goes back to our childhood he would not hesitate to have me arrested on sight.” 

Tullius nodded and started to walk across the room. “I know you have become close to my daughter, Hadvar, she speaks of you often.” He looked at the soldier. “When she returns home I would like for you to visit her; it would probably do her a world of good.” 

Hadvar nodded, hoping that Freya would realize that there was no future with the rebels and come home. He swore if she did he would protect her for all of his remaining days.


	3. A Sliver of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freya's first day at the Palace of the Kings includes a private talk with Ulfric. Galmar does not trust the young woman.

Ulfric rapped his knuckles against the door, his face set in a thoughtful frown. He could faintly hear the scuffling inside the room quickly followed by the large door opening to reveal the bare chested blond Nord; the jarl’s eyebrow slightly rose when he noticed the young woman in the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes hooded. His eyes grew cold as he looked at her, noticing the creamy coloring of her skin and how flawless she looked. He inhaled deeply though his nostrils then turned his attention back to the soldier at the door. “I want you in the yards today. There are new recruits in need of training; report to Galmar at the end of the hour.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

Ulfric looked at Freya on the bed again. “Dragonborn, I will meet with you privately at the end of the hour as well.” 

She nodded, her blonde hair falling in front of her eyes. He watched as her slender fingers whisked the stray locks behind her ears and was struck suddenly by the movement; she was definitely a beautiful young woman. He shifted his gaze back to Ralof. “Don’t make Galmar wait.” 

 

“Aye, sir. I won’t, Jarl Ulfric.” 

Ulfric turned and continued down the passageway to meet with Galmar. He had given much thought on their next course of action they needed to take and needed to inform his general of his plans. 

# 

Ulfric saw the young woman enter the room accompanied by one of the guards. Again he was struck by her appearance and despite his best efforts, it took his breath away. He reminded himself this was his enemy’s daughter and that he did not trust her completely. He looked at his steward and informed him that he was not to be disturbed then walked over to the young woman. “Dragonborn, if you’ll follow me,” he said as he led her through the war room waving off her escort. “I hope your night went well?” 

 

“Yes, Sir. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since leaving Solitude to go to Helgen.” 

“That is good to hear.” He paused a moment then continued on asking, “You don’t regret coming here then?” 

She shook her head vigorously saying, “Not at all, Jarl Ulfric.” 

He looked at her. “You don’t feel as if you’re betraying your father?” His question was direct and to the point; he watched her face for a reaction, curious. 

Her green eyes narrowed as she answered, “I don’t share my father’s ideas nor do I agree with his use of this uprising to carry out his own personal vendetta against you. I don’t see how I’m betraying him when he’s always been aware of my own thought on the matter.” She looked at him in the eyes and added, “Sir.” 

He caught the fierceness and determination in her voice that radiated from deep within her; the corner of his mouth turned up as he gazed at her with appreciative eyes and then opened the door to the living quarters of the palace. Letting her enter the passageway before him he responded, “Tullius allowed you the liberty to oppose his view?” 

She fell into step behind him, following his lead. She smiled as she answered, “Blame it on my mother; she always came to my defense. I guess you might say that she spoiled me.” 

Ulfric chuckled, remembering his own mother and how he had gotten away with things due to her intense love for him. “You father must love your mother immensely.” 

Her smiled faded slightly as she answered, “He did. She died two winters ago.” 

He dropped his eyes for a moment and said, “I am sorry.” They walked in silence until they came to a door at the end of the passageway, slightly ajar. He motioned for her to enter first then followed her in, shutting the door behind him. He gestured toward a char and said, “Pleas, sit.” When she hesitated looking at the closed door he continued, “Freya, as the Dragonborn you are an honored guest here. I have assigned a personal guard to you just as I would do for any visiting dignitary. No harm will come to you while you are a guest here. You have my word on that.” 

“Even if I am Tullius’s daughter?” she asked pointedly. 

“Unlike what your father would have people believe, I am not some monster who has no regard for life. You came here of your own free will. Do I trust you? That is yet to be determined. Trust is not blindly given but earned through words and deeds.” 

“Funny,” she said with a slight smile, “my mother used to say the same thing.” 

A smiled touched his face as well as he said, “She must have been a smart woman.” He motioned to the chair again and once the young woman sat down, he sat across from her. “Freya, tell me about the dragon whose soul you took.” 

She looked at him, confusion in her eyes. “The dragon?” 

“The event, what happened?” he expanded. 

She sighed slightly, gave a small shrug and began to tell the jarl about how she and Ralof had made it past the watchtower past Whiterun when a dragon screamed above their heads, a blast of flame erupting from within its jaws and how they had been forced to fight for their lives as they had found no shelter, no hiding place of any kind. She told him of the fear she had felt rising within her and how it had suddenly emboldened her as she took ahold of the sword Ralof made her carry and unleashed a barrage of swings that caused the beast to expire right before her. She described how the breeze seemed to stop, how the air got hot and dry as the dragon’s corpse started to combust on its own and how tendrils of light surrounded her and how she could hear words echoing in her mind, words she had seen on an ancient wall with scratch like markings that had made no sense then but did in an instant as the dragon’s soul permeated her own soul and became one with her. 

Ulfric listened in wonderment to this young woman, enthralled. There was a drive in her, a potential yet to be tapped. He thought about the irony of the situation and pondered how he was going to take advantage of it. “Do you know the stories about being Dragonborn?” 

She chuckled, “My mother might have married an Imperial but she was a Nord; I heard many Nord stories while growing up and yes, some of those stories were about the Dragonborn.” 

“How do you feel about it?” 

She shrugged slightly again. “Honored.” She paused then continued, “Scared. Definitely scared.” 

“Fear can be a good thing.” He steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “What kind of training do you have with weapons?” 

“Father had Hadvar teaching me with daggers and swords.” 

He nodded. “I’d like to see what you know.” 

She cocked her head at him, confusion written on her face. “Why?” 

He raised an eyebrow and said plainly, “What good is the Dragonborn if she cannot fight?” 

She nodded slowly. “I see your point. You want to make sure that the Dragonborn doesn’t get herself killed right when the dragons are returning to Skyrim.” He nodded. “Alright, when shall we do this?” 

“Tomorrow. Rest for today. You have gone through a lot in the past few days. Get to know the Palace. Ralof and you will dine with me tonight. If there is anything you require, Freya, do not hesitate to ask.” 

# 

At the long table in the throne room sat Ulfric at the head with Galmar on his left while various nobles sat further away. Freya and Ralof were seated next to each other on the right side of the jarl. Before them were plates of roasted pheasant and succulent roasts of goat and beef alongside grilled leeks, grilled potatoes, and baked apples; there were plenty of bottles of Nord mead, a few bottles of Black-Briar Reserve, mead and flagons of ale to drink as well. Freya listened to the jarl and his general discuss politics with Ralof interjecting a comment once in a while. She noticed that Ulfric’s housecarl kept looking at her every so often. She began to shift uneasily in her seat and avoided his gaze. She knew he did not trust her in the least. She wanted to avoid him at all costs. Easier said than done she would find out though. 

“So, Freya, what are your thoughts on the war?” came the gruff voice of Galmar. 

She noticed everyone suddenly getting quiet and turning to look at her; she realized that they all knew who she was. She sat up taller and addressed the older man. “I think that as long as the Empire allows the Thalmor to continue telling the people of Skyrim who they can believe in and who they can worship there will be rebellion. Talos has been worshipped by the Nords for hundreds of years; you cannot wipe out a religious following like that in a few decades, not that any true Nord would abandon their faith on the mere words of these elven heretics.” 

Galmar’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “There might be hope for you yet,” he grumbled with a slight upturn of his lips. 

“Did your mother abandon her faith?” Ulfric asked bluntly as he stared at her. 

“My mother believed in Talos though she stopped worshipping him when she married my father.” 

He sat back in his chair, a goblet of mead in his hand. “Did she teach you about Talos?” 

“Yes, though she cautioned me on speaking of it. I grew up in Cyrodiil, my father works conjunction with the Thalmor Embassy. She didn’t agree with the White-Gold Concordant but abided by the laws.”

“How does a Nord woman raised in a Talos worshipping house turn her back on her brothers and sisters by going to bed with those who bowed down to those pointy eared bastards?” Galmar muttered under his breath before taking a long pull off of his tankard. 

“And what do you know of my mother?” Freya snapped, her green eyes on fire. 

He snorted and retorted, “Your mother was Siobhan, was she not?”

“That is enough, Galmar!” the jarl snapped angrily. 

Freya stared at the two men, her gaze going back and forth between the two, confusion written on her face. “How did you know my mother? What the hell is going on here?” 

Ulfric glared at his general, then looked at the Dragonborn. His face was flat as he answered, “Galmar and I both knew your mother; she was from Windhelm. She grew up here in the Palace.”


	4. Tullius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tullius deals with the fact that Freya is in Windhelm.

Tullius paced the halls of Castle Dour, his thoughts racing between concern for his daughter on the other side of Skyrim in Ulfric’s city and on the other hand he was trying to plan the next moves him and the Legion would need to make to recapture the jarl and end this rebellion. He cursed himself for losing Ulfric at Helgen. He berated himself for dragging Freya there just so she would learn a lesson. He ran his hands through his thinning hair and cursed himself again. 

“General Tullius,” came a voice from down the hall, “I have a message for you.” 

The elder man turned to see an Imperial courier approaching him. “Give it here, soldier.” He took the folded paper and broke the seal. He opened it and began to read its contents. It was from Adelaisa Vendicci, an Imperial soldier that was working for the East Empire Company in Windhelm. She had seen Freya around the city, always accompanied by one of Ulfric’s guards but obviously not a prisoner nor held against her will. She appeared to be healthy and happy. 

He clenched the message in his hand, relief mixed with anger and frustration. He barely acknowledged the courier as he headed for the quarters that housed him and Freya, his thoughts racing. Freya knew very little about her mother’s younger years, the years she had spent in the palace, first as the daughter of a servant, then as a servant herself. Siobhan’s past was something they had tried to keep away fromt heir daughter, something Tullius was no certain she was going to discover. He slammed the door shut to his quarters and grabbed the bottle of Black-Briar Reserve on the table, downing the bottle in just a few swallows. 

He started unfastening the clasps on his armor as he walked to his room. The quiet of his quarters was unnerving. It had taken him months to no longer expect the sounds of Siobhan humming as she cooked or handled the affairs of their home after she had died. Freya had been a blessing, replacing the overwhelmingly deafening silence with her endless chatter about her friends and while he had little interest in what she had to say with the goings on of her friends, it had filled the void of his wife’s absence and had made accepting her death easier. Then Emperor Mede sent him here. He thought that once Freya saw the horrors of the war herself here she would stop her speaking out against the Empire and always saying that the Empire had betrayed it’s people with their dealings with the Aldmeri Dominion but instead she relished being in the land of her mother and had begun immersing herself in Skyrim history and lore by spending a lot of her free time at the Bard’s College, spending hours poring over the mountains of books about the history of the Nord people in Skyrim. 

He dropped his armor on his bed, a habit that Siobhan had tried to break him of. His thoughts went to his deceased wife and when he had first laid eyes on her, all those years ago. He had been an officer in the Legion who was stationed in Skyrim. It was after the Great War and he had been ordered to accompany his commanding officer to Windhelm. They had been in talks for days, using the Palace of the Kings to both house the officers and to hold the talks. It was on one of his midday strolls that he had run into the beautiful brunette with hazel eyes in the market. He struck up a conversation with her and was pleasantly surprised to find out that she was a servant in the palace. Soon he was seeking her out in his free time. And when the delegation departed Windhelm, they had kept in touch through letters sent by couriers. He had not been able to stop himself from developing feelings for her. He had never felt love like this before and it wasn’t long before he was asking her to come to the Imperial City and be by his side.   
Their wedding was held in the Great Chapel of Mara and less than a year later Freya was born. He thought about the day that she had come into the world, her tiny fists waving in their newfound freedom from the confines of her mother’s womb as her cries filled the room of his home in Cyrodiil, announcing her arrival. He had paced the floors in anxious anticipation, looking at the closed door whenever he heard Siobhan’s cries of pain brought on by childbirth. An acolyte of Mara prevented him from rushing into the room where the priestess and healers were with his wife. When he heard the newborn’s cries he felt a swelling in his throat. Then the priestess opened the door and told him he could enter; he felt as if he were wading through mud and then he was there next to the bed where Siobhan was holding this precious blonde haired baby girl with eyes so shockingly blue his heart stopped. He promised this newborn child that he’d always love her and that he’d always protect her. He held her in his arms, smiling and cooing at her. He was a proud father. 

Now, eighteen years later he found himself trying to figure out what he had done wrong, where did he fail? He looked down at the training yard outside of his window and made a decision. He grabbed his sword and walked out of his quarters. Officers saw him as he walked through the halls and gave him wide berth. Everyone was aware of the absence of his daughter; no one dared bring it up to him. 

He found himself standing in front of a dummy made of straw and holding a wooden sword and shield. His fingers clenched the hilt of his sword, tighter as he stared at the dummy. He thought of his daughter in the Palace of the Kings, he thought of his promise to his dying wife that he would protect Freya at all costs and then he thought of Ulfric sitting upon the throne in that frozen city and he imagined he could see the smug grin on the jarl’s face as he welcomed the daughter of his foe into his home. At the thought of the endless possible outcomes of Freya being where her mother grew up and what she might learn of her life, Tullius’s anger exploded. His sword struck upon the straw dummy with such force Tullius heard the pole splinter. 

He swung again. 

And again. 

And again. 

He swung until his arm was throbbing from exertion. He swung until the beaded sweat was dripping from his brow and into his eyes, stinging them. He swung until he had no breath to continue on with. He stood there, his chest rising and falling as his breathing slowly returned to normal. His anger was no longer a raging fire but it still burned fiercely in his heart. He could not allow Freya to remain in Windhelm where Ulfric would use her to his advantage. He thrust his sword into the chest of the dummy imagining it was the jarl. 

“He has a way of bringing out the worst in people.” 

Tullius turned at the sound of Jarl Elisif. A slight smile touched his lips as he gazed upon her. She reminded him of Siobhan all those years ago; hurt inside but too proud to show the extent of the pain. The moons’ light danced upon the pale blue dress that hugged her frame and accentuated her curves and once again Tullius thought of how attractive this young jarl was. “Jarl Elisif, is everything alright?” he asked, noting a single guard stood behind her. 

She gave a brief smile with a shrug. “Rough night. My thoughts rest upon my husband and my dreams are haunted by the memory of his death.” She approached the general, motioning toward the sword protruding from the middle of the dummy’s chest. “I heard rumors that Freya is in Windhelm with that coward who murdered my husband. I assume there is truth to them?” 

Tullius pulled his sword out and sheathed it. He looked at the jarl and nodded, saying, “Yes. I received confirmation that she is staying in the Palace of the Kings of her own free will.” 

“What do you plan on doing?” 

“What can I do? I can’t storm the city just to rescue my own daughter; Ulfric would be prepared for something like that.” 

“Why would she even want to rush off to Windhelm?” 

Tullius hung his head. “She had been sneaking around seeing one of Ulfric’s men. I had her followed. That’s how we knew where he was going to be and how we were able to ambush him. She chose to follow him back to Windhelm.” 

“Teenage love,” commented the fair jarl. “They don’t always see past the feelings.” 

He shook his head slightly. “Just like her mother couldn’t before we got together. I just hope that she doesn’t make the same mistakes Siobhan did.” He motioned towards the Blue Palace. “May I escort you back to the palace?” 

Elisif nodded and they proceeded to stroll through Solitude towards the g rand palace. “So you’re just going to leave her there?” 

“For now. I’ve got people in Windhelm to keep an eye on her. Right now we’ve got to prepare for our own next moves. I will get Ulfric back in binds and I will have both his head and his general’s put upon stakes in the Imperial City.” 

She nodded and they walked the rest of the way in silence. As Tullius escorted her through the palace to her quarters he noticed the uncertainty in her eyes; he saw her stance change from one of somewhat ease to one full of tension. He had noticed this before with her. “Jarl Elisif,” he said softly as they stood in front of the door to her room, “I promise you that I will make Ulfric pay for what he’s done to you. Anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask me. You have the full support and backing of the Empire.” 

“Thank you, General,” she said with a smile. “I will keep that in mind.” She rested her slender hand on his arm and continued, “If you ever need to speak to someone about Freya, I am more than willing to listen.” She removed her hand, said goodnight and closed her bedroom door behind her. 

Tullius looked at the closed door for a moment and briefly thought about the widowed jarl and remembering how he had to get used to sleeping alone and how at times he still longed to feel a woman’s head resting upon his bare chest once more and wondered if she felt that lonely too. He shook the thoughts from his head and retired his own quarters.


	5. Down the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months have passed while Freya learned the Way of the Voice at High Hrothgar in the company of Ralof; Freya has concerns about her being the Dragonborn.

Ralof and Freya sat a table in the Vilemyr Inn, supping on seared slaughterfish and grilled leeks and washing it down with tankards of ale. They had come down from High Hrothgar earlier that day after spending the past couple of months there amongst the monks, Freya learning the Way of the Voice at the urging of the Windhelm jarl. Ulfric had ordered Ralof to accompany her, designating him as her personal guard. The jarl had also instructed him to teach Freya how to wield a sword and defend herself. The Greybeards were not pleased with this training so opposite of their own teachings and this weighed heavily upon the Dragonborn’s mind. 

“You know, Freya, Jarl Ulfric lived amongst the Greybeards in his youth,” Ralof said as he leaned toward her as the innkeeper cleared the table at which they sat. 

“Actually, he told me that when we discussed my going to study with them, in fact we discussed it at great length. He told me about the time that he had been there and why he had left.” She took a drink of her ale, remembering the conversation she had had with the jarl that cold, blustery day when he had found her seated on the front bench in the Temple of Talos, praying to the god for guidance and strength, her Amulet of Talos in her clenched hand. She had not known that he was standing behind her until she had felt him put his hand on her shoulder; startled she looked up at the aging jarl to see him staring at her with wonderment and confusion in his eyes. It was a look that she could not shake from her memory. 

She fingered the amulet that hung around her neck as she had done numerous times, deep in thought. The light from the hearth fire danced off the silver inlays on the ebony amulet, creating a patch of light that danced upon the ceiling as she ran it back and forth along the aging leather strap that it was strung upon with small gold beads spaced throughout it. 

“We need to go to Riverwood,” she said suddenly. 

Ralof’s eyebrow raised as he looked at her. “You are joking, aren’t you, Freya?” 

“No, I’m not. We need to go to Riverwood.” 

“Honey,” he said sternly, “we need to get back to Windhelm. Jarl Ulfric is expecting us to return there when you’re done with the Greybeards; that was his orders.” 

“His orders to you,” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “I am not a Stormcloak.” She took another drink then said, “I’m sorry. I need to know more about my being the Dragonborn. The Greybeards aren’t telling me everything and I’ll be damned if I am going to remain in the dark about this while dragons are attacking-“ 

At that moment there was loud screaming from outside followed by a high pitched screeching that made their eyes grow large. They knew that sound. It haunted their dreams. They both jumped to their feet and turned toward the door, both of them saying, “Dragon” just as one of the villagers came rushing through the door of the inn echoing their statement in a scream. They ran out the door just as the dragon flew over their heads, a gust of air pushing by them as the beast’s wings beat furiously past them. They saw the smoke rising from across the bridge where grass and bushes burned from the flames that had erupted from the jaws of this mighty creature. Freya threw off her hooded robe to reveal the steel armor that Ulfric had Oengul make personally for her. She rushed forward, stopping only long enough to pick up a shield dropped by a now dead guard, Ralof just feet behind her, his Warhammer in his hands. 

The dragon was in Freya’s line of sight, it seemed unaware of her approach. She inhaled deeply, her eyes closed briefly as she heard the words echo in her head, then they rushed out past her lips, flames licking the sky as they hit the side of the dragon, singeing it’s scales and bringing its attention directly upon her. 

“Hey, love” Ralof hollered as the dragon turned toward them, “I think you might have upset the beast.” 

She raised her shield as the dragon spewed a torrent of fire at her. She was thankful for the gloves she wore as the steel of the shield heated quickly. She smiled at Ralof and blew him a kiss as she turned her attention back to the monstrosity before her. She watched as the dragon landed and advanced upon her. She gripped her sword as she Shouted “Wuld Nah!” Her Shout carried her past the dragon at a speed that gave her a much needed advantage. She slashed at the soft part of the beast’s underside, creating a large wound which bled profusely. The dragon screeched as it turned its head towards Freya. The young Nord was already making her way to the beast’s other side by darting beneath its large tail. She could smell the poison that she had coated her sword in, she could see the caustic reaction the poison had with the blood of the dragon. The dragon’s steps were starting to falter as the poison spread through its veins. 

Through the corner of her eye, Freya saw Ralof bringing his Warhammer down upon the beast, his own weapon coated in the same poison as Freya’s sword. Together they delivered blows and slashes, they dodged the flames that erupted from the maws of death, and after one last fiery Shout from Freya they watched as the dragon shuddered violently and collapsed heavily upon the earth, its cry of despair tolling its own death. 

Ralof stood by Freya, waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly the air felt superheated and dry, it was still for a moment then threads of shimmering light rose from the remains and wrapped itself around her body until she seemed to glow then it dissipated and the air returned to normal just as she noticed the embers of an extinguished fire in the bones before her. She then became aware of the approaching voices, all of them amazed at what had just transpired before them. 

“Freya,” she heard Ralof say, “we should go.” 

She blinked her eyes and focused on the crowd just beyond. She nodded as she sheathed her sword. “That’d be a good idea,” she responded and proceeded to walk towards the road. She was not ready to be named as the Dragonborn, she knew it was inevitable but she wanted to enjoy this anonymity as long as possible. 

Ralof caught up to her, her robe in his hand. “Riverwood is the other direction,” he said. 

“Later,” she answered. “The Dragonborn has made her presence known here; we should get to the Palace. Jarl Ulfric will be waiting for our return. He might have more answers for me that the Greybeards don’t.” 

“You want to know more about that woman, don’t you?”  
She nodded, thinking about the older blonde woman who ran the inn in Ralof’s hometown. She grated on Freya’s nerves with her attitude and the doubt she had over Freya’s being the Dragonborn. But the little Delphine had told her had made Freya curious. “She said the dragons are coming back and she’s trying to find out why. As the Dragonborn I have a destiny to fulfill and it does not appear to be in harmony with the teachings of the Greybeards. I cannot sit idly by while meditating on Words while my fellow man is slaughtered by a beast that I can defeat.” 

Ralof smiled at his lover, taking note on how much she had grown in the past few months. She had gone from an unsure young woman to one who was sure of who she was and what she could do. She had proven to be a quick study when it came to her fighting skills as well as learning the Shouts and mastering them faster than what the Greybeard master Arngeir had expected. He found himself loving her even more every day and only prayed that she would not be taken from him. 

#

Tullius read the reports again. His spies within Windhelm had little to tell him of what Ulfric might be planning nor had his daughter been seen in some time. He feared that she was no longer there of her own free will and was now a prisoner, a pawn for the jarl to use as a bargaining chip. Then there were the reports of more dragon attacks throughout the land and the death toll on both sides were heavy. Reports were starting to trickle in of a dragon slayer, one who was foretold in the old Nord stories. Tullius rubbed his forehead and swore out loud. He wanted this rebellion ended, he wanted to return home, he had had his fill of Skyrim. 

He looked up at the knock on the door to his quarters. He took the last swallow of his ale then went to answer the door. He expected to see a courier or Rikke with some news, perhaps a report of someone seeing Freya. He was not expecting to see Elisif standing on the other side of the door with a bottle of Colovian Brandy looking sheepish. 

“Excuse the interruption, General,” she said softly, “but I could not bear to be alone tonight on what would be the celebration of my marriage to Torygg and I figured you could use the company as well.” 

Tullius, visibly surprised, stepped aside and motioned for the jarl to enter. “I did not realize that this would have been your anniversary, Jarl Elisif. This must be hard for you,” he said remembering how lost he felt when Siobhan had passed. He took the bottle of brandy from her and poured them each a goblet of the drink. 

“Yes. I’ve tried to not think about it yet my mind wanders to him.” She took the offered goblet from the general and swirled the liquid around. “We were wanting to start a family of our own.” She took a large swallow from her goblet. 

“You are still young. I am sure there are plenty of noblemen who would be suitable as a husband for you.” 

She chuckled. “They’re too afraid. They could barely address me when Torygg was alive and now they only address me because they have to. They all have their own ideas of how to treat this war between the Legion and Ulfric and they ignore anything I say. They trust the words of my thanes and Falk more than me. They forget that Torygg discussed these matters with me. I know that I have relied heavily upon Falk since that horrible day, I had to.” She took another drink. “I just lost my husband. I was lost in my grief.” 

“Jarl Elisif-“ 

“Please, call me Elisif, it is just us here.” 

Tullius arched his eyebrow but continued, “Elisif, these are trying times. Give them time to see you for who you are.” 

“Other than a puppet of the Empire?” she sneered as she took another drink. 

“You are no puppet, Elisif. You turned to those you have trusted the most to help you through this trying time.” 

“I’m glad I have you, Tullius,” she said, her eyes smiling as she rested her hand on his. 

“As I’ve stated before, Elisif, anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. If it’s in my power, it will be done.” 

They sat and drank into the night, laughing at memories they related to one another. Elisif, in her drunken state, opened up about her fears as jarl and her fears as the potential ruling High Queen. She started to cry as she opened up; the alcohol dropping the walls she kept up and loosening her tongue. 

After hours of drinking, Elisif decided she should return to the palace and Tullius escorted her back. They stood in front of her bedroom door, Elisif thanking Tullius for everything he had done. She smiled at him, rested her hand on his shoulder, and said, “You’re a good man. Siobhan was blessed to have found a man who cares so deeply.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “Maybe one day I’ll find someone like you too.” 

Tullius took her hand and said, “We are a dying breed,” and then he kissed the top of her hand, his eyes smiling. 

“Then perhaps I am lucky to know you.” 

“I think it is I who is lucky, Elisif, to know you.” He placed his hand against her cheek, to which she turned her face into his palm and kissed his skin gently. He groaned softly and took her head in his hands; looking into her eyes he felt his loneliness disappear. He leaned forward and gently kissed her lips, and meeting no resistance he pulled her into his arms only to feel her arms wrap around his neck. He felt her pull him toward her bedroom and he followed her lead, nudging the door closed with his foot, his desire taking control over him as he threw caution to the wind.


	6. Self Imposed Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galmar and Ulfric exchange words.

Ulfric stared out the window in his room watching the setting sun in the west, his thoughts frozen in time on days long past, days he had often tried to forget. The Great War had changed him in many ways; it had forever jaded his view of the Empire as well as causing the hardening of his heart at the loss of his father. It was a different time then and the time that he had known was forever now a page in the annals of history, never to be experienced again. The innocence of his youth, the hopes and dreams of a disillusioned young man, all of that had been shattered as he wrote the eulogy for his father from the inside of a cold prison cell. The man who returned to Windhelm as jarl was now a shell of the man he had been when he had left. 

Now, years later he found himself reflecting upon the what ifs of the past. What if he hadn’t shut people out of his life when he had returned? What if he hadn’t turned his anger over his betrayal and imprisonment into the hatred that resided within his very soul to this very day? He would still wage this war to free Skyrim from the influence of the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion, that he was sure about, yet would his hatred be as deep as it is now? He knew that the path of what ifs was treacherous and self-destructive yet he could not keep his thoughts off of what could have been. 

He turned when he heard the door open, his hand instinctively going towards his axe that hung upon his hip, then relaxing when he saw that it was Galmar who walked through his door. He walked over to the table and picked up his tankard of mead, draining the remaining honey sweet intoxicant in two gulps. “Do you have news for me, Galmar?” he asked sharply. 

“There was a dragon attack outside of Ivarstead.” He paused for a moment then continued, “Reports from our spies in the area state that it appeared that the Dragonborn slew the beast but did not stay around for long afterwards.” 

Ulfric turned a steady eye upon his general and asked, “When was the attack?” 

“Yesterday.” 

Ulfric drummed his fingers on the tabletop, thinking out loud, “Then they should be returning here no later than tomorrow as long as they’ve had no problems on the road.” He nodded to himself as he started planning his next course of action, saying to Galmar, “I need to persuade Freya to join our ranks. To have the Dragonborn wear the uniform of a Stormcloak officer would be the much needed boost to the morale of our soldiers that they need right now as well as a boost of confidence to the citizens who support us.” 

“Or are you just trying to stir the pot with Tullius by putting his daughter in a Stormcloak uniform?” Galmar asked pointedly. 

Ulfric stared at him, his anger evident. “To hell with what that Imperial bastard thinks. My people inside Solitude tell me that it is well known that Tullius’s daughter is in the Palace of the Kings. She came here of her own accord. If she dons the Stormcloak cuirass, it should not surprise him.” 

Galmar returned the hard stare with one of his own, his own voice measured. “I think you just want to provoke him and that you will take any opportunity to exact your own revenge on him for what he took from you. Especially if it’s using someone close to him like his own daughter, even if that daughter is Siobhan’s.” 

“Your opinion is noted.” He poured himself more ale. “Though I do see the poetic justice in the situation.” He took a swallow and looked over at his longtime friend, his eyes reflecting his anger and irritation. 

“Dammit, Ulfric!” Galmar snapped in exasperation. “You’re playing with fire! Don’t fool yourself into thinking she’s not like her mother!” 

Ulfric slammed his tankard down so hard that the ale within sloshed over the side. His eyes blazed an intense blue, his anger shining through hotter than the midday sun over the sands of Elsweyr. “If you were anyone else I would cut your tongue out for that that.” He glared at his friend and said in a growl, “Get out.” 

Galmar glared at the jarl as he walked to the door. “Your view is distorted Ulfric. You’re allowing the past to color the way you see things today. Leave the past where it is.” 

Ulfric hurled his tankard at the closing door only to have it bounce off the heavy wood and land with a thud on the stone floor, ale now all over his floor. He knew that his housecarl had a point but he was not about to admit it to Galmar nor himself. Tonight his thoughts would remain on the brunette servant who forever lived in his bittersweet memories.


	7. A Short History Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freya inquires about the Blades.

“The Blades?” repeated Ulfric as he looked at Freya sitting across from him at the table in the war room. At her nod he sighed. “What can I tell you about them? Well, their history goes back to the First Era when they were an Akaviri group called the Dragonguard. They were dragon hunters. When they were defeated by Reman Cyrodiil, they declared him to be the Dragonborn they had been seeking, they swore loyalty to him as his personal bodyguards and in so doing they vowed to protect not only the Emperor but the Empire as well. They did so until the death of Uriel Septim VII and his bastard son Martin, the last of the Dragonborn Emperors. They were disbanded at the signing of the White-Gold Concordat. As far as I know they have all been executed by the Thalmor or are in hiding.” 

“At least one of them survive today. She was insistent that I speak with her.” 

Ulfric raised his eyebrow. “Really? What did this Blade have to say?” 

Freya shrugged her shoulders and answered, “I haven’t spoken with her yet. I was going to speak to her after leaving High Hrothgar but then the dragon…” 

Ulfric nodded in understanding. “How is your training with Ralof going?” 

She smiled broadly. “I’ve improved greatly. He’s wanting to see how I am with a war axe now. I’ve also become pretty proficient with my shield, both with blocking and with bashing. I would however like some archery training. I cannot always rely upon my blades or the Thu’um to bring down a dragon.” 

“My,” he said, chuckling at her obvious excitement, “aren’t we feeling a bit ambitious?” 

“Ambitious? No, my jarl. Just aware that I am going to have to be proficient in a variety of weapons if I am to slay these dragons.” She sighed, recalling the stories her mother had told her as a child. “The Dragonborn is a might warrior, not some monk living in seclusion atop a snowy mountain.” 

He gazed upon the young woman with new eyes, seeing the sense of responsibility within her and sensed it was the core of her backbone. “He respected that, especially since he had rarely seen many people from Cyrodiil show such drive that he saw in her. “When you feel you are ready you should speak with this member of the Blades. If I remember correctly the Blades had a lore keeper, maybe this Blade can tell you more about the dragons and their return.” 

“I’ll sit down and make plans with Ralof tonight and let you know in the morning when we will head out.” 

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” He stood up and held his hand out to the young woman. “Remember, Freya, I’ll help you as much as I can in whatever you need.” He smiled and continued. “Until dinner?” 

She took his offered hand and stood up, answering, “Yes, Ralof and I shall see you then, my jarl.” 

He watched as she walked out of the war room and up the stairs to the quarters she now shared with Ralof. He saw resemblances to her mother and allowed himself a slight smile as he blissfully remembered the brunette woman he had once claimed as his own.


	8. Change of Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freya spies on the Legion

“When we get to Dawnstar we’ll rent a room at the inn. We can head to Windhelm in the morning,” Ralof was saying as he and Freya continued on their journey. It had been three months since they had set out from Windhelm to Riverwood to talk with the woman from the Blades, Delphine, much had changed in that short bit of time. The dragon attacks were more frequent. There were more losses between the Empire and the Stormcloaks. Freya had been directed to High Gate Ruins by the Greybeards on the possibility of another Shout being located with them. And indeed they had discovered it, deep within behind the throne room of the Dragon Priest Vokun. He thought they were goners in there. Freya seemed distracted and it showed in her movements. 

Freya nodded. “I need to replenish my satchel of potions. Frida should have replenished her stock by now, and if not I think I have most everything I need to make some myself.” She looked at her burnt robe she often wore to hide her armor. “Gonna need to get a new robe again, blasted dragons.” 

Suddenly she stopped and crouched down. She motioned for Ralof to be quiet as slowly joined behind her, the snow muffling his steps. She pointed to the glow of a fire not far from them. They could see movement, a trace of boisterous voices floated upon the frozen breeze. 

“…at Castle Dour. The general has Elisif’s ear and outside of her steward, he’s the only one she seems to trust anymore.” 

“He’s been touched in the head since his kid ran off with that Stormcloak.” 

Freya’s eyebrow raised. She pointed to a figure in front of the fire and whispered to Ralof. “The Legion.” 

He nodded as they listened to the soldiers continue their gossip about Tullius and Elisif. He watched Freya’s face as they listened, searching for a clue of her feelings as the soldiers spoke of the lurid rumors of the fair jarl and the general. She raised her eyebrow when she heard the soldiers call her a traitor to the Empire. It was Ralof’s steady hand on her shoulder that stayed her movements before she signaled that they should move. 

“I can’t believe -!” she grumbled under her breath when they were far enough away. “He’s not seriously…Elisif…?! What is he thinking?! That woman… and really? A traitor?” 

Ralof watched as Freya paced the snow in the moonlight. He chuckled at the revelation that Tullius and Elisif were getting to know each other despite his lover’s obvious revulsion. “Freya,” he said, “It’s a war. Both sides will fling mud about the other regardless of who they are. If anyone is a traitor, it’s those who have turned their backs on Skyrim. Come on, let’s get to Dawnstar and call it a night. We’ll head back to the palace in the morning.” 

She nodded and with a look towards the Blue Palace in the distance, she joined Ralof as they headed to the small oceanside town. 

#

Freya slipped in the door and crept down the hall, holding to the shadows, a bottle of invisibility potion in her pocket just in case. She knew these halls like the back of her hand and could walk these halls with her eyes closed. 

“I’m telling you,” she heard Legate Rikke say, “Ulfric’s planning an attack on Whiterun.” 

Freya’s eyebrow rose. She knew that Ulfric and Galmar had been discussing Whiterun’s neutrality lately and that Balgruuf needed to decide on which side of the war his loyalties laid. 

“He’d be insane to try,” came the familiar voice of her father. “He doesn’t have the men.” 

“That’s not what my scouts report, sir.” The sound of steel boots walking across the stone floor of Castle Dour echoed off the walls. “Every day more join his cause. Riften, Dawnstar, and Winterhold support him.” 

“It’s not a cause,” growled Tullius. “It’s a rebellion.” 

“Call it whatever you like, General. The man’s going to try to take Whiterun.” 

“Jarl Balgruuf…” 

“Balgruuf,” Rikke interrupted, a hint of irritation edging her voice, “refuses the Legion’s right to garrison troops in his city. On the other hand, he also refuses to acknowledge Ulfric’s claim.” 

“Well if he wants to stand outside the protection of the Empire, fine, let Ulfric pillage his city.” 

Freya’s eyes grew wide at those words from her father. 

“General,” Rikke’s voice showed her displeasure at the Imperial’s lack of respect for the Nord way. 

“You people and your damn jarls,” he mumbled. 

There were more footsteps and the sound of a goblet being filled then the legate’s voice said, “You can’t force a Nord to accept help he hasn’t asked for.” 

“Yes, I know. Siobhan was just like that.” There was a pause as Freya imagined her father taking a deep breath. “If Ulfric’s making a move for Whiterun, then we need to be there to stop him. Draw up another letter with the usual platitudes, but this time share some of your intelligence regarding Ulfric’s plans. Embellish if you have to. We’ll let it seem like it’s his idea.” 

Freya was shocked at her father’s deceit. She could feel the anger building inside of her. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now, back to this crown thing. Tell me again why I’m wasting men chasing after a fairy tale.” 

Freya’s ears perked up. Crown? Fairy tale? She crept closer to improve her hearing. 

“If Ulfric gets his hand on that crown, it won’t be a fairy tale. It'll be a problem." 

"Don’t you Nords put any stock in your own traditions? I thought the Moot chose the King. We’re backing Elisif. When the Moot meets, they’ll do the sensible thing.” 

“Not everyone’s agreed to the Moot. You’ve been here long enough to know that Nords aren’t always sensible. We follow our hearts.” 

“So what – Ulfric gets this crown and then suddenly he’s the High King?” 

“No, it’s not as simple as that, but the Jagged Crown would be a potent symbol for his cause to rally around. But if we found it first…” 

“And we gave it to Elisif?” 

“In the absence of the Moot, it would further legitimize her claim.” 

“Perhaps… I’m entrusting you with what resources I can spare. But I'm warning you, if this turns out to be a waste of time and men..." 

"It won't be a waste. The Stone-Fist's no fool. He found the Crown. But we'll get to it first." 

Freya snuck back out and made her way atop the walls of Castle Dour. She had to make it back to Windhelm and warn Ulfric. She saw her father with new eyes now and she knew that she could never follow in his footsteps. The blood that ran through her Nord veins cried out to stand beside her fellow man, to not allow the Empire to destroy this land any more than it already had. She had discovered the ugly truths of the Thalmor when she snuck into the Embassy for Delphine. She now saw that her own father was as guilty for the growing hostilities as were the Thalmor. She felt sick as she found herself trying to stomach the truth of her father. She made her way towards the stables outside of Solitude, intent on getting to Dawnstar where she had left Ralof in the middle of the night, only to see him walking towards the stables himself. 

“Are you fucking mad, Freya?” He snapped at her when she approached him. “What in Oblivion made you think that going to Solitude alone was a good idea?!” 

“We need to get back to Windhelm right now, Ralof,” she said hurriedly. “They’re going for the Jagged Crown with the intention of giving it to Elisif.”


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tullius finds out about Freya being the Dragonborn; Freya learns of her mother's relationship with Ulfric.

Hadvar stood in front of the door that led to Tullius’s quarters, the anxiety paralyzing him, freezing his feet to the cold stone floor. He feared the twisting of his bowels as collected his thoughts, preparing to deliver his disheartening report. He replayed that sight in his mind again just as he had many times in the past day and a half, each time feeling a pang of anguish. How he had dreaded this moment and now that it was upon him he could feel the weight upon him as heavy as the executioner’s blade on his neck. He pushed the image of Freya from his mind, took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles on the door. A moment later he heard the latch being turned and the large wooden door started to creak open. 

“I asked not to be dis-“ Tullius started to holler. Upon seeing Hadvar, he snapped “What have you to report? Was it there?” 

“Yes, sir. The Jagged Crown was found within the tomb at Korvanjund.” 

Tullius’s eyes showed surprise then he responded, “So where is the Crown? Do you have it or is the Legate bringing it?” 

Hadvar took another deep breath. “No, sir, neither I nor Legate Rikke have the Crown.” 

Tullius’s eyes quickly snapped to anger. “The Stormcloaks?” 

Hadvar shifted his weight. “yes, sir. They got there before we did.” He hesitated before continuing. “There is more, General.” 

“What else?” he bellowed. 

“The Dragonborn was there.” 

This got Tullius’s attention. He had been hearing an increase in the amount of reports crossing his desk about sightings of this warrior, but no one knew who they were while there were rumors that the Dragonborn was a female. “Are you sure? How do you know it was the Dragonborn?” 

“I saw her with my own two eyes. She Shouted; her Shouts are more powerful than the Thu’um Ulfric used on Torygg.” 

“Her?” Tullius repeated. “So it is a female as the rumors have said.” He looked at Hadvar. “What was she doing there? Observing?” 

“Hadvar shifted his weight again. “She is the one who claimed the Crown for the Stormcloaks. She wears their uniform.” 

“Son of a bitch! Ulfric’s going to rally the citizens to his rebellion just by this Dragonborn wearing his uniform. Damn it! Son of a bitch! He took a deep breath and asked, “Anything else?” 

“I’m afraid so.” He hesitated, shifted his weight again and took a deep breath. 

“What is it, Hadvar?” the general demanded. 

“It’s about Freya.” 

Tullius stopped short. “Freya? What is it? Is she alright? Where is she? Damn it, Hadvar, what about my daughter?!” 

Hadvar met Tullius’ eye and answered, “Freya is the Dragonborn.” 

#

Tullius sat at the table in his quarters, a bottle of mead in his hand, the fourth one since Hadvar left. Elisif, who had been in his room during Hadvar’s visit, sat across from him, listening as he pondered aloud where he had gone wrong and cursed Ulfric and her Stormcloak lover. The revelation that she was the Dragonborn shook him to his core. He recalled some of the stories he had overheard Siobhan tell Freya when she was just a small child, running around playing with the toys he brought her from distant lands. He wondered what Siobhan would say if she knew that her one and only child turned out to be the foretold warrior who was destined to battle the mightiest of dragons. How would she feel if she knew that her daughter had chosen to fight under the banner of Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who had birthed a fear in her of his rage that she ran from the people that she had called family long after hers were gone. 

He finished the bottle of mead and opened another. “I am sorry, sweet Elisif,” he said, a drunk lisp to his voice. “This was not how I intended for this night to go.” 

“Stop apologizing, my dear general. Neither one of us thought that the Stormcloaks would get to the Crown first. And then to discover about Freya, I just don’t know what to say.” 

Tullius started to ramble about Freya when she was little, how she had such a stubborn streak about her and how her mother doted on her to the point of spoiling. He reminisced about Freya’s first crush on the boy who lived a couple of houses away from them, he told Elisif about how he had had hopes that Freya and Hadvar would get together and marry. He talked for hours until he listened to the advice of the jarl and went to bed. His sleep was tortured and tormented him throughout the night. It woke him at night’s end before the sun rose. He splashed cold water upon his face and sat down at his desk. Taking out a roll of paper he dipped a quill in the inkwell and drafted a letter. 

#

Freya watched as the courier hurriedly left the Palace of the Kings. He had nervously waited in the long hall as Jorleif had gone to get her from her room. He had said in a rushed voice, “I have a message for you, your hands only. It’s from General Tullius in Solitude.” Freya had raised an eyebrow but accepted the sealed letter and dropped a few gold coins in his hand. She turned and started towards the passageway to return to the living quarters when she saw Ulfric wave her over. 

“Is everything alright, Freya?” 

She shrugged. “It’s a letter from my father. I’m sure he’s discovered by now that I am the Dragonborn. He’s probably going to try to persuade me to reconsider my position on the war. I am going to read this in my room.” 

She continued on until she entered her room. She shut the door and sat upon the plush chair in the corner by the fireplace. She broke the seal and began to read. As she read her father’s words she felt the tears rush forth. He spoke of the love he had for her and the love he had for her mother. He told her of the promise he had made to her when she was born and the promise he had made to her mother on her deathbed. Then her tears turned to anger as he spoke of things she did not know, things that he had intended on never telling her. His words caused a rage to burn deep within her. Angrily she stormed out of her room and sought out Ulfric. She found him in his quarters, reading reports. She shut the door, drawing his attention. 

“Freya?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face as he looked upon her angry glare. 

“When were you going to tell me?!” 

“Tell you what?” 

“Just exactly how you knew my mother!” 

“Ah, I see.” He set the report in his hand down on his table. “Freya, that was a long time ago and I didn’t feel that I needed to tell you the details of my relationship with Siobhan. I cared for her, very much so. But things didn’t work out for us.” He paused. “I didn’t want you to think that I was catering to you just because I loved your mother.” 

“You loved my mother but you took my father from her and me?” 

Ulfric looked at her with more confusion on his face. “I took your father from you? You came here-“ 

“Tullius,” she interrupted, “is only the man who raised me from birth; he’s not the man who caused my birth. But he told me what happened.” She clenched the letter in her fist, shaking. “He told me how you couldn’t deal with the fact that my mother chose to be with another man and not you; he told me how you had my father killed and that’s why my mother ran away to Cyrodiil! You killed my father!”


	10. A New Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric and Freya discuss his past with her mother. Ulfric comes to a startling realization.

Ulfric sat in the chair, Tullius’s crumpled letter in his hand and looked at the angry young Nord woman next to him, a look of regret on his face. He ran his hand through his hair, his age showing in the heaviness of his eyes. He looked at the letter again, took a deep breath, then returned his gaze upon Freya. 

“I was a young man when I had come home from the Great War, full of youthful bravado. I was headstrong and cocky, the only child of Hoag, ‘The Great Bear of Eastmarch’; I was angry at the outcome of the war, I was freshly scarred from my imprisonment by the Thalmor and the “interrogation” techniques of Elenwen. Your mother was a servant here in the Palace, I had known her since I was a young child; her mother had served as my nanny. By this time her parents had passed due to sickness, my father had allowed her to remain here as a maid. I saw her for the first time since coming home outside the city walls on her way back from Hollyfrost Farms. She had a basket full of snowberries and a sack of wheat for Sifnar in her arms. All of a sudden with no warning a wolf rushed out towards her and started to attack her. I drew my axe and rushed to her defense, killing the wolf in two swings.” In his mind’s eye he saw Siobhan as she was that day, the very personification of beauty with long brown hair and exquisite hazel eyes, her skin, kissed by the sun, was perfectly smooth. 

“Your mother was easy to talk to and when I was around her, the anger subsided, I could forget, at least for a bit, that the Empire had turned its back on its people.” He sighed as his thought went to that brief period in his life. “War changes a person. You see the horrors that you can never forget. You see your shield brothers and sisters fall in death next to you on the field, the light of life extinguished from their eyes forever. And Talos preserve you if you are tortured by your captors. Those atrocities are never forgotten and have a way of being a poison inside your very soul that slowly kills you.” 

He ran his hand over his beard, his eyes downcast as he slowly opened the scar on his soul in his memory. “Then Igmund started writing me about the Reachmen in Markarth, playing upon my anger over the war. It didn’t take him long to sway me to his cause. Your mother told me that I was foolish to go, she practically pleaded with me to stay here. But all I could hear was the call of battle and the cry for justice.” 

He looked at Freya and for a moment he saw Siobhan sitting next to him; he felt a pang of hurt in his heart. “I never saw your mother after I left Windhelm for Markarth again. She wrote me when I was imprisoned for my actions there, I had many letters from her. But the letters ended after my father died. It was not until I returned and took the throne that I found her last letter to me, left upon the dresser in my room. It only had three words. ‘I’m sorry. Goodbye.’” 

Once again he looked down at the paper in his hand. “Freya, I did not seek out your mother upon my return. If I killed your father, I did not know who he was. This,” he said as he raised his hand with the letter, “is just Tullius attempting to manipulate you.” He looked at her as he set the paper on the table, his eyes firmly on hers. “Even with how I felt about her leaving, I would never had done anything to bring her sorrow.” He hesitated before continuing, “I loved her then as I still do now. No woman has ever meant as much to me as she did.” 

Freya looked at him, searching his face, wondering if he spoke the truth. “I don’t know what to think right now, Ulfric. Since I’ve been in Skyrim, I’ve discovered that I’m this promised warrior that is supposed to defeat the World-Eater, I learn that my mother grew up as a servant in this palace, that she had a relationship with you, I have sided with the man who makes plans against the man who raised me. Both of you want me, the Dragonborn, to fight for your side and I have come to see that I have been a pawn in some pissing contest between the two of you. Have you even given one shred of thought of consideration to how this affects me?” 

“Have I lied to you, Freya?” he asked pointedly. 

“I don’t know, have you? You’ve definitely left things unsaid to gain the advantage.” 

“What would you have had me say to you, Freya? That I bedded your mother? That when I realized she was no longer mine that I closed off my feelings because she was the only woman I had ever loved? That when I first saw you I knew you were her child and that I should have turned you away from here despite you being the Dragonborn? Tell me, Freya, what would have come from that?” He met her glare and continued, “I have given more consideration about your feelings than you have realized. What I have chosen not to say is not for any kind of advantage but out of respect for you.” 

“I don’t… I can’t… I need to think…” she stood up and rushed out of the room. 

#

Ulfric walked into the Temple of Talos that evening, his mind heavy with the weight of all that had transpired that day. His thoughts were torn between memories and Tullius’ inflammatory letter to Freya. He could not shake the memory of Freya’s face as she confronted him with Tullius’s accusation. She was right though; she had become a pawn in the game of strategy between the two seasoned soldiers. She had been a pawn since Helgen, if not longer. Upon seeing her sitting close to the altar, he slowed his steps and softly approached her. During the time she had made Windhelm her home he had often found her in prayer in the Temple. He found her devotion to the god intoxicating, something he did not expect from a Nord raised in the Imperial City. He could hear her petition to Talos, so softly uttered. She did not see him standing by her; she held her Amulet of Talos in her hand, rubbing it with her thumb. A tear streaked down her cheek as she prayed. 

He placed his hand on her shoulder and when she looked up at him he saw a familiar face staring back at him. In a moment he had perfect clarity and he understood what had been eluding him all this time. His breath caught and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes went to the well-aged amulet in her hands. “Your amulet…” 

“My mother gave it to me when she was teaching me about Talos when I was a little girl. She told me that it had belonged to my father.” 

He looked in her eyes again, his thoughts swirling in his mind. He cursed himself for not realizing what was so obvious to him now. He sat down next to her. “Freya, I didn’t kill your father. That amulet is proof of it.” 

“I don’t understand?” 

“You were named after Queen Freydis on your father’s wishes, weren’t you?” 

“Yes. How’d you know that?” 

“Queen Freydis was High Queen back in the Second Era; she ruled over Windhelm when this was the Nord capital city.” He looked at the amulet in her hand. “Your amulet that belonged to your father,” he paused and looked at her, “I gave her that amulet.” 

Freya stared at him. “Wait… you gave… what…. Do you…. Are you saying…. “ 

“I’m saying that I couldn’t have killed your father because I am your father.”


	11. Season Unending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freya negotiates a peace treaty between General Tullius and the Stormcloaks.

Freya stood outside the large room where everyone was gathering and waiting on her. She could hear the voice of her adoptive father as he spoke with Elisif and she could hear Galmar’s grumbling voice as he voiced his opinion to Ulfric. She wrung her hands together as she prepared herself to sit amongst man who raised her and his enemy, the man she now knew to be her father. Tullius was unaware that she had discovered this truth, and both Ulfric and Freya agreed that it was best that no one else know about her parentage either at this point. She felt Ralof’s hand upon her back and she turned to look at him, her eyes anxious with the weight of the nearing talks. 

“I am right by your side, my love. Tullius will not dare try to intimidate you in front of the Greybeards. Hold your ground.” He placed a gentle kiss upon her lips, reassuring his lover. “You are the Dragonborn.” 

She smiled at him and started to respond when she saw one of the Greybeards approaching her. She turned her head slightly and said in greeting, “Master Arngeir.” 

“So you’ve done it. The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? Season Unending… so it has proved.” 

Freya sighed. “This was-“ 

“-the only way,” Arngeir finished. “Yes, so you have said.” He turned and walked into the room with the others. 

Freya clenched her fists and pursed her lips. She took a deep breath and followed the Greybeard. As she crossed the threshold she caught sight of her adoptive father standing with Jarls Elisif and Balgruuf. He abruptly stopped saying whatever it was he was saying when he caught sight of her. She approached Arngeir and said, “I am ready to begin,” then continued to her seat at the far end of the table, choosing to go by way of the Stormcloak delegation, Ralof two stops behind her. 

“We will begin once the Dragonborn takes her seat,” Arngeir addressed those gathered. 

Everyone save for Ulfric and Galmar sat down. Ulfric’s voice boomed against the stone walls as he protested. “No! You insult us by bringing her” he pointed to Elenwen “to this negotiation? Your chief Talos hunter?” he spat the words out as his eyes narrowed on his onetime captor and interrogator. 

Freya stayed standing for a moment, looking first at her father, then glancing at the elf. She took a deep breath then sat down. She heard Legate Rikke mumble underneath her breath, “That didn’t take long.” 

“Hear, hear,” rumbled Galmar. 

“I have the right to be at this negotiation,” came the Thalmor ambassador’s voice. “I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordant.” 

“She’s part of the Imperial delegation,” retorted Tullius. “you can’t dictate who I bring to this council.” 

“Please,” Arngeir stated, “if we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn’s input on this matter.” 

Ulfric looked at his daughter and said, “By Ysmir’s beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh? To think that I would sit down at the same table with that… Thalmor bitch.” he spat those words out as if they were poison upon his tongue. “Either she walks or I do.”   
Freya breathed deep, raised an eyebrow and nodded. She looked across the table at her adoptive father then at the ambassador. “You’re right, Jarl Ulfric. The Thalmor have no business here.”

A smirk appeared on his face briefly as he shot a glance towards the Imperial general. “I’m glad we agree on this, Freya.” 

Tullius’s eyes narrowed at Ulfric then he looked at Freya, disappointment in his eyes. 

Elenwen stood up, glared at the jarl and icily replied, “Very well, Ulfric. Enjoy your petty victory. The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your civil war.” 

Galmar snorted as he bellowed, “Ha! Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor! Unlike your Imperial friends here.” He stared at Rikke. 

The Legate jumped from her seat yelling, “you’re lucky I respect the Greybeards council, Galmar!” She started to advance toward the Stormcloak general. 

“Legate,” came the stern voice of Tullius. Freya remembered that tone from the many father-daughter speeches he had given her as she grew. “We represent the Emperor here.” 

The woman stopped and glared at Galmar, her anger evident in her controlled breathing through her nose. “Sorry, sir.” She returned to her seat. “It won’t happen again.” 

Freya looked at Galmar to see a satisfied smile on his face, his eyes laughing. She realized there was a history of some sort between the two and became curious. 

“Now that that’s settled, may we proceed?” asked Arngeir. 

“One moment.” 

Freya looked at Tullius, a frustrated look crossing her face. 

“Here we go,” came from her right where Galmar had taken his seat. 

“I just want to make clear that the only reason I agreed to attend this Council was to deal with the dragon menace. I have no authority to negotiate a permanent settlement, unless Ulfric is ready to sue for peace and turn himself over to Imperial justice.” He looked directly at the jarl, his eyes boring into his enemy’s. 

Freya clenched her hands into fists beneath the table. 

Ulfric looked at his onetime teacher. “Master Arngeir, are you going to just let him continue to…” 

“We’re here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here to deal with the dragons. Nothing more.” He glanced at Freya. “We consider even sitting down to talk with these rebels more than generous.” 

“Even posturing, Tullius,” sneered Ulfric. “If you came to talk,” he leaned forward on the table, his voice turning as cold as the winter Windhelm nights, “let’s get on with it.” 

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” 

The silence in the room that followed was thick with tension. Arngeir glanced at the two men. “Are we ready to proceed?” Everyone nodded. “General Tullius. Jarl Ulfric. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn’s request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim.” He paused as he let that set in. “Who would like to open the negotiations?” 

“Our terms are simple,” came the voice of the Imperial general. “Riften must be returned to Imperial control. That’s our price for agreeing to a truce.” 

“That’s quite an opening demand Tullius,” Ulfric responded as he set back in his seat. “Come on, you can’t seriously expect us to just hand over Riften at the negotiating table. You haven’t been able to take it back yet. Why would we give it up now?” 

“I’m sure General Tullius does not expect something for nothing,” came the voice of the Greybeard. 

Galmar snorted. “Of course not! What will you offer for Riften, Tullius? Some empty promises? Maybe some more Imperial bluster?” 

Ulfric raised his left hand towards his general and longtime friend. “Enough, Galmar.” 

Galmar grudgingly sat back, silent. 

“Jarl Ulfric, what would you want in return?” 

“First, let me be clear. The sons of Skyrim know from better experience that talking to the Empire is a waste of time, or worse. Imperial promises are simply a way to lull you while they prepare a dagger for your back.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at Tullius. 

“Aye!” bellowed the Stormcloak beside Freya. “We haven’t forgotten Markarth, Tullius.” 

Ulfric continued, “But I accepted the Dragonborn’s invitation to this council, and I at least will negotiate in good faith.” He looked at the young woman. His eyes smiled as he addressed her, “This council was your idea, eh? So tell us, what do you think Riften is worth?” 

She cleared her throat, glanced at Tullius then looked at Ulfric. “How about the Reach?” A smirk touched her lips as she thought of the strategic advantages that they would have knowing full well how the taking of Markarth would hurt the Empire, both in the war effort and in silver. 

He nodded, allowing the smile now to touch his lips. “Yes. With Markarth in our hands we will be able to raid the Imperial supply lines out of Solitude.” He turned his gaze to the Imperial. “You heard what she said, Tullius.” He cocked his eyebrow and tilted his head slightly to the side as he continued, “We’ve made you a fair offer. If you’re really serious about this truce, you need to reconsider.” 

Tullius frowned as he looked at his adoptive daughter. “You disappoint me, Freya.” He shook his head as she turned to look at him. “I accepted your invitation to this council despite your known association with the rebels. But it seems you have no intention of dealing fairly with me.” He shook his head again. “I can see now that this is not a negotiation at all.” He returned his gaze to Ulfric. “I know you, Ulfric. You have no intention of coming to terms. You’re here to blacken the Empire’s name, and I won’t be a party to it. If you think you can hold Riften, you’re as deluded as you’ve always been. Soon enough I’ll have you back under the headsman’s axe, and this time there won’t be any dragon to save you.” 

Freya’s eyes blazed, her hands gripped the sides of her seat as she fought to maintain her composure. She glared at the man who had raised her, the man she had called Father and all she could see in his eyes was the same fire of hatred that was always there when Ulfric was the topic of conversation. For so long she did not understand where the hatred had come from, but now she did. She had always known that her mother had still cared for her father but had always thought it was because he had been taken by death. Now she realized that Siobhan had still had a place in her heart for Ulfric and Tullius knew he could never fill it.

“As always, the Empire’s fine words are worth nothing!” responded Ulfric. 

Off in the corner Esbern had had enough. The Blades, both Delphine and the lore master, were also part of the council on the invitation of Freya, though Arngeir initially refused them entrance. “Stop!” he cried out. “Are you so blind to our danger that you can’t see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about… nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!” 

Ulfric looked over at the Blades. “Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.” 

Freya noticed a hint of familiarity in her father’s voice. ‘This is proving to be interesting in more than one way,’ she thought to herself. 

“He is with me,” Delphine answered shortly. “And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say before you do anything rash.” 

“Don’t you understand the danger?” Esbern pleaded. “Don’t you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?” 

The room was silent as the embattled men digested what Esbern was saying. Freya sat closer to the table, her hands now folded in front of her. This was her area, she is the Dragonborn, the one destined to fight Alduin. None of the people seated before her bore the weight of this responsibility, it was hers and hers alone. She cast aside her Imperial upbringing as well as her Stormcloak blood and embraced her role in the larger picture at play. 

It was Tullius who spoke first. “I don’t know about the end of the world, but this dragon situation has gotten out of hand. If this truce will help Freya here put an end to that matter, we both gain.” He sat forward and stared across the way at the jarl. “Remember that, Ulfric.” He crossed his arms and continued. “Now, back to the matter at hand. You know that I can’t agree to these terms. The Emperor would repudiate this treaty and I would be recalled.”   
“Shor’s bones,” mumbled Galmar, “where will these demands end?” 

It was Ulfric’s turn to lean upon the table, hands folded in front of him. “Fine. Let’s hear it.” 

“We want compensation for the massacre of Karthwasten.” 

“You slaughtered the very people you claim to be fighting for!” Rikke cried out. “True sons of Skyrim would never do such things.” 

Galmar slammed his fist upon the table. “Damned Imperial lies! My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation for your butchery at – “ 

Ulfric spoke over his general. “This is our homeland, Tullius. All the blood spilled in this war is on your head.” 

Tullius took a deep breath and looked at Freya. “So, Dragonborn, Freya. What do you say?” 

She hesitated. Karthwasten was one of their biggest arguments. She knew Ulfric would never slaughter the innocent lives of the people of Skyrim despite the stories that he had. Tullius had always insisted he had. She glared at him for a moment then said, “Who is to say what happened at Karthwasten? There are several conflicting reports. Some say rogue Stormcloaks, some say Ulfric ordered it while others say Legion officers did it in disguise. No, Ulfric does not need to compensate for something no one has been able to prove either way.” 

“I should have known you would side with your friends.” He shook his head. “I guess that’s the fairest deal we’re likely to get.” 

“It seems we may have an agreement,” stated Arngeir. “Jarl Ulfric, General Tullius, these are the terms currently on the table. Riften will be handed over to Imperial control. Jarl Laila Law-Giver will step down, and Maven Black-Briar will become the Jarl of Riften. The Empire will withdraw its troops from the Reach, allowing Ulfric’s forces unhindered access to Markarth. Jarl Igmund will go into exile, with Thongvor Silver-Blood taking his place as Jarl of Markarth. You both agree to this?” 

Ulfric nodded. “The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements. As long as the Imperials hold to theirs.” He turned his attention to the Jarl of Solitude. “What about you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking?” He smiled. “Speak up. I’m sure General Tullius is waiting to do your bidding.” 

Freya smirked as she watched Elisif’s face turn ashen. 

She looked at Tullius. “I have nothing to say to that murderer. General, you have proven yourself a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests.” 

Tullius nodded. “Thank you, Jarl Elisif. I appreciate your loyalty.” 

Freya raised her eyebrow at the sickly sweet fake formality and looked at Ulfric to see he was mirroring her expression. 

“The Empire can live with these terms, yes,” Tullius continued, addressing the others. “For a temporary truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with.” He again turned his attention to his rival. “After that, Ulfric… there will be a reckoning. Count on it.” 

Ulfric looked at Freya and Galmar. “Now that the Empire has been driven from the Reach we can put a stop to the raping of her silver mines. That silver belongs in Skyrim.” 

“Jarl Balgruuf,” Arngeir stated, “I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn’s plan?” 

The blond jarl replied, “Yes, I’m ready to do my part. Just say the word and my men will help you spring this trap.” 

Freya listened as they discussed how to trap a dragon and was ready to learn the Shout which would call this dragon to their trap. It seemed like ages before all planning and discussing was done. Finally, it was over. Freya headed towards the entranceway with Ralof behind her. She wanted to join Ulfric and Galmar who were waiting for her in the main hall. They remained quiet, not wishing for their own words to be heard by Tullius who was a few steps behind them. 

“Freya, a moment?” 

She stopped at the top of the steps, a look from Ulfric showed concern as she turned to face Tullius, Elisif at his side. “I have nothing to say to you,” she responded. 

“Do you really want to side with him?” he demanded, ignoring her brushoff. “Look at the lives destroyed by him and this war. Do you want to be a part of this? This isn’t what your mother would want.” 

Freya spun on heel and advanced upon him, her hand going to the ebony dagger that Ulfric had given her shortly after he realized he was her father; it had the Stormcloak family crest emblazoned upon it and it pulsated with the frost enchantment he had Wuunferth put on it. “Do not speak to me about what my mother would want! You have not given a damn about what she would want for me!” She started to draw the dagger but suddenly felt Ralof’s hand grabbing ahold of her arm and pulling her away. She pulled her arm back and stilled him with a glare. She started to advance upon Tullius again. 

“Freya!” came the thundering voice of Ulfric. “This is not the time nor the place.” 

She turned around to see her father approaching her. He laid his hand upon her shoulder and continued. “We agreed to peace. Do not break your oath.” 

She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to look at Tullius and Elisif. “You speak of what my mother would want. MY mother would not want me at odds with my father. She would want me to respect the man who raised me as his own. And she would want me to be the woman I am meant to be. I am a Nord, born of Nord parents. We are a proud people. I will honor my oath.” She narrowed her eyes as she addressed Tullius. “You dishonor my mother’s memory by bedding this woman. You dishonor yourself by your carrying on with the jarl who should still be in mourning for her beloved Torygg instead of whoring herself to you!” She spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Ulfric and Ralof standing on the steps looking at each other smiling before they followed her. 

Ulfric stated loudly as he walked away, “I don’t think she approves of you, Elisif. But then again, no one could or will ever be able to hold a candle to Siobhan.”


End file.
